


Butcher Shop

by 0UTBR34K



Category: Original Work
Genre: All characters are agendered, Breaking the Fourth Wall, Cannibalism, Casual discussion of game mechanics, Eating your own corpse, Gratuitous use of "they" pronouns, Guro, I have no idea, Other, Self mutilation in later chapters, THE GORE WARNING ISN'T A JOKE, There might be shipping later, This sounds really bad but trust me it's not, horror games, ok I lied it's shipping now and I'm sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2017-09-11
Packaged: 2018-07-13 00:09:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 22
Words: 19,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7130267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0UTBR34K/pseuds/0UTBR34K
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A horror game's main shopkeep and its protagonist share some friendly conversation.<br/>(Since I've gotten such a positive response to this, I've made it a tumblr page! Butchershopstory.tumblr.com is up and running!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Welcome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first time they meet, it's not very relaxed.

“H-Hello…”

“Aw come on, you’ve faced up against literal nightmare monsters and now you’re scared of a lil shop?”

The butcher chuckled, gesturing around. It was a mostly square interior, a few overturned or destroyed tables and chairs scattered around. Dried and cured meats hung along the walls, little price tags stuck to them, the numbers incomprehensible. All the fresh stuff was behind the glass counter that they were currently leaning quite far over. A taxidermied goat head watched them from above the door. It tilted its head around the room to continue watching if you strayed too far.

There was a savepoint in one corner.

“Ah, well, butcher shops aren’t really… Known for being safe places.”

“Cautious, aint’cha? Makes sense how you got here. Only died twice on the way while you were figuring out the hiding system.”

“W-wait, what?”

The protagonist eyed them with apprehension. They moved back so that they were standing, not sprawled forwards over the counter.

“Oh come on, don’t be ashamed. No game’s controls are perfect. It takes some time. Now, what can I-”

“But how did you know I died? That makes no sense.”

The butcher stopped for a moment, thought about it, and then gave a shrug. “Well, I don’t really follow rules about resetting after you die and load back up again. I gotta keep up business after all.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“It means I’ve got some great stuff in stock right now! Now, you need somethin small but quick-healing for the next area, lemme just…” The butcher disappeared through a door behind the counter, then reappeared a minute or two later.

They carried a raw human hand.

“Fresh off the one where ya got clubbed to death by that big brute guy. He’s pretty generic, don’t get too disappointed in the character design. He’ll pop back up a little better in a while. So, I- hey, hey, get back here.”

The protagonist had backed away almost far enough for the goat head to lean down and touch them. They were rifling through their inventory for some kind of weapon.

“Don’t bother, kid. You can’t get any weapons until later in the game. Even then, they’re completely useless- they’d be shit even against a fly. A normal sized one, I mean, not the ones out in the swamp.

“There’s a swamp??”

“It’ll be about half an hour before you get to it.”

The protagonist looked at the hand as if it might attack them. They inched forward, eventually coming all the way back to the counter. “H-how much does it cost?”

“3 of those broken doll parts you scrounged up earlier.”

The protagonist warily handed over the tiny porcelain limbs and took their own hand.

“Nice doing business.”

“I-I guess I hope you have a good day.”

The butcher grinned. “With what you’re about to face? I’ll have work for months. It’ll be a great day.”


	2. Mask

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The butcher gets frustrated about their role in life.

“Hey, can I see what’s under your mask?” The protagonist reached across the counter, giving the snout of the butcher’s mask a soft pat. Since they’d lost their apprehension about the place, they’d become much more active. It was one of the only places in the game where they could actually relax. No monsters, no traps, just a cannibalistic butcher who sold them pieces of their own mangled corpse.

The butcher swatted their hand away without much force.

“Sorry kid, can’t. There’s nothing programmed underneath it. Never got an official face drawn up.” They tugged at one of the straps absentmindedly. The mask only covered the front of their face, and unkempt black hair tangled and swirled out the back. It was cut short in a way that made the protagonist think they’d done it with one of the meat cleavers. “This is all the face ya get. Sorry to disappoint.”

The protagonist curled themselves into a little pouty ball. They acted as if crossing their arms and huffing would solve all the world’s problems. The butcher gave a low, rumbling chuckle. “There’s only one place where my face got drawn, and there’s no way that you get to see that.”

The protagonist nearly launched themself back over to the counter again. Their eyes glittered with curiosity. They were pushed away again, less gently this time. The butcher sounded far less amused than a moment earlier. “I said you can’t see, alright, and I expect a little respect about that.”

After a few moments of awkward silence, there was a tense transaction (“Hey, legs only cost 6 doll hands!” “Well if you’d stop askin about the mask, maybe you’d get your discount back.”), and the protagonist left again. Off to go and die again.

 

It wasn’t for a while that the mask was brought up again. “Is that why you only butcher me? Is it really cannibalism to eat pigs for you?”

“Just because I’ve got a pig mask doesn’t mean I’m not human. Sure, I might not be human anyway, but it doesn’t make me a pig. The longer you chat at me, the longer it takes me to carve this up, so unless you’re willing to be here a while I’d suggest-”

“Are you scared to show me because you think I’d laugh at you?”

The question hit like a brick to the jaw. Cracking, destructive, it left them both speechless. The butcher put down their knife without a sound.

They’d never come out to the main part of the room before. The protagonist might’ve thought they had no legs if they hadn’t moved around so often behind the counter. They paced carefully to one of the less broken tables, pulled up a chair, and sat down. The background music had stopped.

“Kid, you just can’t leave things alone, can ya?”

“Well… That’s kinda why I’m in this story.”

“...Guess you’re right.”

Another moment passed in silence.

“The only time anybody drew me with a face was in concept art. I was originally planned to be the main villain, yknow. This shop would’ve been booming. Guess I just wasn’t good enough. They liked the idea, though, so they gave me the most underappreciated job possible. They stuck me as a shopkeep and never drew my face again.”

“Oh.”

“And now, for all that juicy info, I’m raising the price on those ribs to 9 doll hands.”

“You really are the villain, yknow that?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you know- pig masks are easier to draw than faces, and I wanna do art of this, so this is all out of laziness


	3. Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A conversation about the past.

“Aw come on, you must have some kinda backstory. They couldn’t just leave you hanging like that.” The protagonist fiddled with their own hand, gnawing on the fingers without much thought. The butcher prodded them softly with a knife.

“Not everyone has a backstory. Some of us just exist.”

“But you’ve seen your concept art, so you must’ve had a story at some point.”

“It doesn’t make sense anymore, with me just having a shop now. They used a lot of it for the real villain. Spoiler alert, I guess.” They tapped the protagonist on the top of the head with the blunt side of the knife.  “And you told me not to spoil the story for you.”

“But you’re so interesting! Pleeease? I’ll… I’ll figure out something to do in exchange, okay?”

The butcher gave them a sideways glance. “You’ll have to pay up soon, yknow. Don’t make deals you don’t wanna keep, kid.”

“Please?” The protagonist had those damn eyes, ones that lit up beautifully when they got scared, shuddered and twitched when they died, rolled around lazily while the butcher hauled them home to slice. Those damn eyes could get them whatever they wanted if they tried hard enough. The butcher knew they were weak to that look.

“Fine. I’ve got a little bit of story, alright? It’s not big, anyway. They scrapped some shit together for me before they released the game.”

The protagonist leaned in close, ready to listen. The butcher gestured around while they spoke, sending the knife twisting dangerously through the air. “Grew up out in the country, we sold meat, there was a famine, we ran out of pork to sell to make money. Started picking up the famine victims to sell, used the mask so nobody’d know who was grave robbing, kept my family alive. Obviously I ended up dying like everyone else down here, went straight to hell, started up my own little business.”

The protagonist was… Oddly serious. It wasn’t anywhere close to the expected response. 

“You saved your family?”

“That’s not the part to focus on, kid.”

“It’s the part that’s most important.”

The butcher was glad they wore a mask. A real expression right now would be a disaster. “Nothing about it is supposed to be important.”

“Well you’re important.”

“Kid, I told you to shut up, alright? Let me work.”

There was a long silence.

The protagonist tugged lightly at one of the tendons in the hand they’d been eating. “What should I do since you told me?”

“I’ve got plans, just wait and see.”


	4. Work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> THE GORE WARNING IS HERE FOR A REASON.  
> I'd suggest not reading this if you're a vegan.

The protagonist held the blade like it might strike out at any moment. It looked too heavy in their hands. The butcher thought for a moment about taking it back, but decided to just let this happen. It’d go just fine as long as no one panicked.

“So you want… You want me to…” The protagonist tried to repeat the request, but they kept stumbling before it could come out. They tried to swing the knife in the air like the butcher did, but it just wasn’t the same. The butcher had so much grace- they had none.

“It’ll be easy. Trust me, you’ll be fine.” The butcher adjusted their mask, a nervous habit they hadn’t quite gotten over. “Logic doesn’t work the same way here. Honestly, it might not even hurt as much as some of the shit you’ve gone through before.”

The protagonist refused to meet the butcher’s eyes. “But I’ve got no idea how to make this work. I might mess up, then what?”

“Then I’ll help you out.” The protagonist’s head was tilted upwards by a hand on the cheek. Even without a real expression, the butcher still looked… Gentle. Caring. The protagonist held the knife more confidently.

They lifted their shirt just enough to expose their belly. The butcher used a hand to push it further. “You won’t get a good view if you don’t hold it up high enough.” The butcher gently pressed the fabric to the protagonist’s mouth, encouraging them to hold it with their teeth, so both their hands could be free. “Remember, go quick, don’t hesitate. This isn’t too hard.”

 

The protagonist slammed the knife just above their sternum, and before they could scream, jerked it all the way down. It was a sloppy cut, messy and uneven, but it got the job done. The protagonist’s vision got hazy, and they almost thought they would go unconscious, but a hand on their shoulder told them to keep steady. They had to hold back vomit at the sight of what they’d done. A heavy, wet spill of guts had sloughed partway out, which they tried to push back in. This action was met with a low laugh from over their shoulder.

The butcher held them up gently, just so that they wouldn’t fall over. Their hands were shaking, and they were about to reach for the bonesaw like they’d been told to do, but the butcher held their wrist away. They gave a soft whine, but weren’t able to physically protest. The butcher picked them up like a princess and set them down on a cleaned counter. 

The voice in their ears wasn’t the reassuring coo that they’d been hearing before. This was harsh, predatory, possessive. “I’d usually put you upside down for this, but I think you might pass out on me. Stay awake, kid, the show’s not over yet.”

It felt like only a few seconds for the butcher to saw through their collar bone. They mentally kicked themselves for taking a moment to admire the strength that must take. Now was absolutely  _ not _ the time for that train of thought.

Their vision started to darken and flicker as the butcher set to work removing organs. Every once and a while, they’d get a light pat on the cheek, just checking on how awake they were. They finally lost concentration when the butcher started to hum a tune, and they focused too hard on trying to identify it instead of focusing on staying alive. It filled them with an odd warmth even as their mind fluttered to a halt.

\-----

 

They weren’t exactly sure how they felt when they walked back into the shop. Ashamed? Confused? Excited? Whatever the case, the butcher was beaming with joy.

“You got back just in time, kid! I just finished up the treat I’d been working on.” The butcher almost skipped away from the main room, returning with an enormous bowl. The smell wafted all the way to the door of the shop. The protagonist was almost drooling already.

“Is that me?” They asked once they got close enough to see it. It looked like some sort of stew, thick and rich. The butcher nodded excitedly.

“Decided to actually make you something instead of just selling you raw. It just felt like a special occasion. I’d always wanted to try cutting someone up while they were still alive, and oh boy, it was amazing.” The butcher’s hands flexed and shuddered as they recalled it. “You looked beautiful.”

The protagonist felt their face flush up bright red. It brought out a laugh that was so much brighter than any other they’d heard. They tried to keep their composure, even though they were being laughed at. “That’s not- That’s not something you say to someone about- About that!” They stumbled over their words like a kid accused of having a crush.

“I’d do it again, if you would let me. Maybe you wouldn’t make such a bad cut the second time.”

A squeak of anger got stuck in their throat, but they were able to swallow it down before it was let out. They looked away from the butcher in shame. “Well… I can’t know until I try again. I might just be awful with a knife.”

The tone of the room shifted in the short silence that followed. The butcher stirred the stew with the end of a knife. “I’d let you give it another shot if you wanted. Not right now, though. This stuff took me hours to make and I expect you to appreciate it!”

“Oh hush, you know I’ll love it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry mom


	5. Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's nothing the butcher has to say to them.

It had been a long day. A half-stuck jump key had resulted in an incredible number of corpses to collect. Thankfully, the butcher was strong enough to take it all. That didn’t mean they were the fastest of people, though- there was only one issue with having more products, and that was the time it took to process them.

Well, and the time it took to move them around.

 

“Ugh, this damn bull keeps kicking my ass, you got an-” The protagonist stopped in their tracks when they noticed the scene in front of them. They were stunned long enough for the goat above the door to start nibbling at their hair.

The butcher had the protagonist- well, the one from five minutes ago -slung over their shoulders like a whole pig. The body was missing its head, but the cut was too clean to have come from their enemy. The butcher had left it behind since it was too mangled to be useful. The protagonist- the living one, now -just stared in complete silence.

The butcher pulled the corpse down into a sort of princess-carry, the same one they’d used when they had put the protagonist up on the counter when… No, not the time to remember that. The butcher, not taking their eyes (or, well, mask’s eyes) off the living protagonist, dumped the corpse over the counter and out of sight. Obviously this wasn’t its final destination, but it was the quickest place to just get rid of it.

“So, uh… Guess you saw that.”

“Yeah. Saw that. You, um, you had… me. There. That was me, right?”

“Who else would it be?”

“Yeah, yeah, stupid question.”

“Is there… A problem with that?”

“No, no, just kind of awkward.”

‘Kind of’ was an understatement. This was extremely awkward. The butcher turned, and the protagonist could see that since the butcher hadn’t been wearing their apron, the blood had soaked through their shirt and stuck to their skin underneath. The protagonist had to force their eyes upwards to the pig mask so that they wouldn’t stare.

“I thought maybe I could do something fun to surprise you with it.” The butcher wrung their hands like a child caught drawing on the wall. The protagonist watched those hands with an odd fascination- they were enormous, suited to tough, heavy work. The protagonist’s were so delicate in comparison.

“What kind of fun?” That question came out so wrong, but it was too late now, even as they silently cursed themself for their wording. The butcher gave a low laugh at that, earning a harsh (well, as harsh as the protagonist could manage,) swat on the mask. They seemed to be slipping back into their normal personality instead of the confused fool from before.

The butcher pulled the body back up onto the counter. “Mind if I clean this out for a minute? I won’t be long.”

The protagonist came closer, clearly fascinated. If the head had still been attached then it would be a much less fun experience. They didn’t really look forward to seeing their own face dead. “Yeah, yeah, you can clean it out.”

“You, ah… Wanna sit at one of the tables while I finish this up?”

“Can I see how you do it on someone who’s actually dead?”

The protagonist could have sworn the butcher’s eyes went wide.  

\-----

 

The butcher was nearly silent while they worked. It was sort of eery. The mask concealed any emotion the protagonist might’ve been able to see. The protagonist had found a stool further in the back of the shop, one high enough that they could sit and watch the butcher work, and they had barely moved from it the entire time. Sure, they could have been exploring the shop if they really wanted, but this was far more interesting- not just the actual butchering, but the fact that they could finally see the butcher in their natural environment. Every once and awhile, the butcher might hum a bit of a tune, too short for the protagonist to recognize.

“So you do this all day when I’m not here?” It was the first time either of them had spoken for a long time. The butcher seemed slightly surprised.

“It’s my job, isn’t it? Usually I get a bit more chatty with you, since you can’t hear me.”

“What kind of stuff do you say?”

“Well, if I say it since you can’t hear, then do you think I’m gonna say it to you alive?” The butcher snapped the sentence out like a reflex.

The silence became tense, full of unanswered questions, instead of the comfortable curiosity of before. The protagonist fiddled with a little saw they’d found on a shelf. They’d just glanced past a serious topic, and they hoped that wouldn’t ruin the rest of the visit…

“I…Sometimes I’ll just comment on what you look like at the moment. Usually just that kind of thing. I’ll talk about what you said to me at the shop. Jokes about you, things I see you do. Asking you what you meant by things.” The butcher muttered out their response without stopping their work. The protagonist wanted to ask more, but figured it wouldn’t be the best idea.

“So, just… Things you wanna say to me, but not to my face?”

“Yeah. That kind of thing.”

“Is there anything you maybe… wanna talk about?”

The butcher didn’t respond this time.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God dammit I said this wasn't gonna get shippy but it is and I'm sorry


	6. Expression

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A graphics update.

The protagonist burst through the door in a flurry. Their eyes were glittering with delight. “Did you see the new graphics update?? They changed the hitboxes on everything, they made it so my coat flaps in the wind, th-” The protagonist had come so close to the butcher that their nose touched the mask’s snout. They were staring directly into the mask’s eyeholes.

No, not into- through.

The protagonist let out a screech that sounded like a very excited airhorn. “Are those EYES I see under that mask??”

The butcher shoved them away. “Yeah. They thought I wasn’t expressive enough. Decided I needed eyes. I’m expressive, right kid? You always knew what I was thinkin before they gave me eyes.” The protagonist knew the butcher was upset because of how they slipped back into that speech pattern.

“Oh come on, it looks pretty. They’re nice. Make you a little scarier.” The protagonist leaned forward again, lightly tracing a finger along the rim of the eyehole. The eye, so new, so real, didn’t close or shudder. It barely even blinked. Wide and wild, it just lit up brighter. “They’re… Inhuman. They don’t have any fear in them. They just…” The protagonist felt a shock down their spine the longer they stared into that eye.

The butcher shoved them backwards again, this time hard enough to cause a stumble. The spell was broken. They spoke harshly. “Stop touching me. This isn’t something I wanna talk ab-”

“Is there a whole face under the mask?”

Complete silence.

“Can… Can I see it?”

“I haven’t been brave enough to look.” The butcher slid a hand under one of their mask’s straps. “I know it’s there. I can feel it. I haven’t looked.”

The protagonist was hesitant to come close again, and rightfully so- The butcher aimed a cleaver at them the moment they made a move. “It’s my own damn face. I get to see it first.” They backed up all the way to the door, the one that lead to the back of the shop. “I’m seeing it first.”

The protagonist waited what felt like ages. They felt like they had seen every piece of the storefront at least a hundred times. Eventually, they knocked at the door, and were greeted by a knife stabbed through next to the door handle. Ooookay. They could wait.

\-----

 

It had been too long. They had been waiting for too long. Something was wrong. They puffed up all their courage, got ready to die, and opened the door.

 

The butcher was sitting on the ground. They were wearing the mask again, but their sleeves were rolled up. Their arms were torn and punctured. On closer inspection, it wasn’t just a random pattern- those were bite marks. The butcher had been tearing at their arms like an animal.

“I… I didn’t even get the mask all off.” The butcher’s voice was quivering. It sounded like it hurt to talk. “I got so jealous of you. You always got to taste things. Now that I had a mouth, I should be able to. I should be able to eat.” They wiped a hand down one arm, smearing the blood. “I took one bite and got carried away.”

The protagonist reached deep into their inventory for a set of bandages. Alcohol. A rag to clean with. It was slow work, fixing up both arms, especially since the butcher looked at them like they were pure evil every time it stung. The bandages were tight enough to gently pull the butcher’s sleeves back down.

“Mind if I stay for a while?” The protagonist said softly. The butcher nodded.

\-----

 

The protagonist woke up with a jolt. It took them a moment to understand what had happened. They were still sitting on the back room’s floor, leaning back against the door of an enormous… Oven? Whatever it was, it smelled amazing. It was the same smell that clung to the butcher’s clothes like perfume each day. A deep, rich… Familiar sort of smell.

They realized all at once that they were also leaning up against the butcher themself. The butcher was still dead asleep, head tilted over theirs as if to protect them. Head… Face. The butcher had a face. It was their chance to see it!

As soon as their hand reached up to tilt the mask away, the butcher snapped awake as if they’d been shot. “S-Sorry!! Sorry! I just got curious, okay? I just…”

“Just what?”

“Just thought that maybe you were too scared to show me on your own.”

The butcher stood up too their full height. The protagonist stayed on the floor. The butcher’s sheer size had never hit them until now. They were enormous. Their chest heaved like this was the most effort they’d ever had to put into one action.

The mask was thrown away like it was poison. The butcher’s voice rang out through the room. “YOU STILL WANNA SEE IT? YOU STILL THINK THIS IS BEAUTIFUL?”

The protagonist felt their heart do a double-take. That face was like looking into the nightmares of an angel. The butcher’s expression was one of pure fury. Teeth like a hyena, eyes like a vulture, scars like a fighting dog. That mouth looked like it could tear them to shreds in more ways than one. They quickly had to shove that mental image away. It was... stunning.

“Holy shit are you… Are you enjoying this??” The butcher said. The rage had flipped into startled confusion. “Holy shit you are, aren’t you? You get some sick amusement out of seeing me like this?” The protagonist had to squeak and crawl away when the butcher stepped dangerously close to them. They shook their head as quickly as they could, trying to stammer out some sort of explanation.

“Y-You’re just, ah, you’re just…”

“Disgusting? Grotesque? Repulsive? What children see in their night terrors?”

“Divine. You look like you could eat me alive and oh boy, if I could still keep looking at that face while you did it, I would adore it.” The protagonist was fully aware that they sounded like a lovestruck fool, but they were speaking the truth. They could feel themselves blushing more deeply than they’d ever done before.

The butcher, flustered and terrified, did the only logical thing in that situation.

They shoved the protagonist down onto their back on the floor and fulfilled that request.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hoo boy ,,, i kinda wanna write that whole "eating alive" thing but this chapter was way longer than the others anyway and i didn't wanna drag it out too far  
> also by writing it like that it sounded really sexual but i swear i just meant it in a gory way


	7. Meal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to make a formal appology to the people who thought I was a good writer  
> Gore with barely any plot  
> Posted from my phone so pls excuse formatting

The protagonist could almost scream with joy. They could almost scream with pain as well, but that wasn’t the point. The butcher hadn’t taken any sort of humor in that request to be eaten. The protagonist watched them take off their heavy gloves and toss them aside with the mask. Sure, they were grinning like it was hilarious, but there was no joke in the way they dragged their nails along the protagonist’s belly hard enough to draw blood. 

“Though I might just drop a knife on your throat, get a few minutes alone until you came back, sell you for extra since you made me show ya my face. But since you asked so nicely, might just keep you for myself. Never had the opportunity to eat anything before, yknow, and if you’re askin for it, it seems like the perfect time to try it out.” The butcher had them firmly pinned to the ground, one hand on their throat, the other tracing little circles with the blood. “You mind? Don’t wanna get too close until you say you were serious.”

The protagonist let out a horribly undignified squeak. The butcher let go of their throat just long enough for them to start babbling. “Y-Yeah, please, I really was serious, I really was, please, I-” They were cut off by another slide of claws along their belly, deeper this time. The sound out of their throat was inhuman, a screech that they could never have made on purpose. 

The butcher made a low rumble deep in their chest. “Glad to hear you weren’t kidding. I would’ve just played with the corpse if you said no, but it’ll be a lot more fun with you alive.” The protagonist wanted to respond, but they had to bite their hand to stifle the noise that bubbled up when the butcher licked a long line up those clawmarks. 

The hand that had been on their throat now slid up their back, boosting them up, and they were about to ask why when it became shockingly obvious. A blast of white hot pain erupted from their abdomen. In the haze they could feel blood start to drizzle down to the floor. They didn’t even realize they had screamed until it was at full volume. 

When they dared to glance towards the pain, what greeted them felt like a dream. It was unreal and shuddering and far too warm. The butcher had a mouthfull of flesh, and was deciding wether or not to- Oh  _ god  _ they’d swallowed it nearly whole, barely chewing at all. 

The butcher dipped their hand into the gaping wound. “Having fun up there?” When the protagonist tried to answer, they just laughed again, twisting their hand around to cause another agonized screech. “There ya go, there’s that nice singing voice.”

The protagonist heard them mutter something about “better cuts”, but wasn’t focused too much on words, since the butcher had slid their face downwards. They were tempted to make a joke about it until they felt jaws around their thigh, deep enough to grip at the bone, and oh boy those jaws were built to crush. In a moment of silence, they dared to slide one hand into the butcher’s hair, which caused a low hum that shook them both. The moment was shattered at the same moment the butcher snapped down into their femur.

When they had compared those teeth to a hyena, they suddenly realized that it’d been more true than they thought. Screams tore through their chest as they felt the bone snap and splinter. Their grip on the butcher’s hair tightened as they tried desperately to find some sort of handle for their emotions. The second rush came when the chunk of leg was shredded out, and oh they  _ really  _ needed to teach the butcher to chew their damn food instead of just gulping it down like an animal. Their throat was already raw from the desperate cries that the butcher had forced out of them. 

  


They were given a few moments to breathe. The butcher lifted themselves back up, licking the blood from along their mouth. “You still with me?”

They gave a weak nod.

“Need me to slow down? I know I got a little intense there.” The butcher was genuinely concerned. This wouldn’t be any fun if it were just predatory.

After a muttered confirmation that everything was going well, the butcher seemed to be… Thinking about something. Concidering some new idea. It was a complete mystery what could be going on until-

The protagonist’s eyes went wide when the butcher dipped down and placed a tiny kiss on their forehead.

The action seemed to last only the blink of an eye before their head was wrenched to the side and their throat exposed.

They felt the suffocating weight of those teeth in their neck for a blissful moment before their spine cracked like dead wood.   



	8. Irritated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The butcher isn't jealous at all.

“Hey, do you k-”

“What is this?” shouted the butcher, cutting off the sentence before the protagonist was even through the door. In one hand they had a deathgrip on a scalpel. “The fuck is this?”

The protagonist shuffled the rest of the way through the shop’s front door. “It’s-”

“Yeah, I know what it  _ is,  _ but that’s not my question.” The butcher jammed the scalpel into a nearby torso. “Found it stuck in your throat. In fact, that body had a whole  _ lot  _ of clean cuts. I doubt they’d be so neat if you were struggling.”

 

The protagonist had to bite back a bark of laughter. “Oh my god are you-”

“I’M NOT JEALOUS, I’M JUST A LITTLE  _ IRRITATED _ THAT SOMEBODY ELSE WAS CUTTING YOU UP.” The butcher was waving their cleaver around in sharp, flailing strokes through the air as they spoke. It gave a certain urgency to their words.

“You don’t even know what was going on, though! It was in the hospital segment. I missed the timing on resisting getting strapped down.” The protagonist walked up to the counter with far more confidence than they felt. “Sure, I didn’t say NO to dissection, but…”

The butcher was shaking slightly. “There’s that damn look! You only look like that when I talk about killing you!”

The protagonist let out a screechy giggle. “Oh man, you’re so totally jealous of them! They just cut me open one time, and even if I had fun with it, it was still just a normal game event.”

“What do they even look like? Bet they’re damn nasty to be in the hospital.” The butcher wasn’t getting jealous  _ at all _ . Obviously not. It was just curiosity. Obviously.

The protagonist made a wavy motion with their hands. “Hips like an upside down wine glass. Little hands. Big eyes, kinda like mine, but darker. I swear they had eyeliner on, no joke. Couldn’t see their mouth- they had a medical mask.”

“Oh, so they’ve got a mask, too? What animal would they even be? A fuckin peacock? They sound like a prissy little-”

“Butcher, please. Calm down. They’re not like you at all. Plus, I only met them once, so…”

The butcher looked unconvinced. “And you’ll see them again when you go through to beat the segment. Bet you’ll pay so much attention to their hips that you’ll accidentally get tied up again.”

The protagonist tried to speak, but was cut off by the butcher storming away to the back of the shop. The door slammed hard enough to crack the wood.

\------

“Buuuutcheeeeer, come on, come back out…” It had been a whole 15 minutes since the butcher had thrown their little fit. “I know you’re upset. I didn’t mean to hurt you. Can I please come in?”

“No. No, you can’t come in. You’re not allowed back here anymore. Get out.”

“But… But I need to come here. This is the only place I can get items.”

“WELL WHY CAN’T YOUR NEW BOYTOY SELL YOU SOME SHIT? THEY CAN HEAL YA UP WITH THEIR DUMB FUCKIN MEDICINE OR WHATEVER.”

The protagonist let out a long groan of exasperation. “They’re not my boytoy. I met them one time, I got vivisected, it was a little fun, and I only have to go back so I can beat that level. After that I doubt I’ll ever see them again.” A sigh. “Please talk to me. I didn’t know that you’d get so upset. I… I’m sorry.”

The butcher, after a tense silence, opened the door again. “Just… You’re… You’re just…”

The protagonist walked through the door, hopping up onto one of the back counters. “I’m?”

“You’re the only person I’ve got. I… I don’t get to see anybody else. You walk in, you talk to me, you pay attention to me, you leave. If you get all caught up with somebody else…” The butcher was messing with their own hands, trying not to look the protagonist in the eyes. “...You… You might not come back.”

“Oh Butcher, you know you’re special to me, you know I wouldn’t abandon you.” The protagonist jumped back down and put a hand on the butcher’s cheek. “You don’t have to worry, okay?” The protagonist smiled. “Also…”

“I don’t like this. I don’t like your tone. What does ‘also’ mean. What the fuck are you about to tell me.”

“I might be able to make it so somebody else comes to visit you.”   
“IF YOU BRING THAT FLUTTERY LITTLE TWINK INTO MY FUCKIN SHOP I WILL WRECK YOU”


	9. Scalpel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone whos been giving me nice comments has been blessed by the Pig of Good Eats and will get delectable snackings  
> Oh yeah, also, new character. Thats a little important.

“Hey, Butcher, I’ve got a surprise for yoooou!” The protagonist chimed as they came into the shop. The butcher tensed up like they’d been shot. “And I made sure it happened on a day when you had the shop all clean and pretty, so you can’t get mad at me for not planning things.”

The butcher’s eyes were flaring and wide underneath their mask. They spoke slowly. “You didn’t. You fucking didn’t”

“Well, I thought maybe you wouldn’t be so jealous and snappy if you had more than one person to talk to.”

“And I think maybe I’ll just hang you up on a hook in the back and let you starve for this.”

“You haven’t even met them yet!” The protagonist whined. They seemed genuinely upset at the harsh response to their… Well, no, they weren’t upset. They knew this would happen, and they were absolutely giddy to see how this went down.

The butcher disappeared into the back of the shop for a few minutes. They returned with a cleaver the size of their face. “Then let me meet them.”

 

By the way they walked, you would’ve thought the surgeon expected dramatic music to follow them around. Their outfit was incredibly messy when compared to how they acted. It looked as if they’d just clawed their way out of a morgue. The blue of their long rubber gloves was bright in the dim shop. You could almost feel their grin behind their medical mask. It was long and sharp when contrasted with the butcher’s enormous maw.

“You didn’t tell me you were introducing me to someone so…” The surgeon approached with long strides “...Tall~”

The butcher was puffed up like an angry cat. “You’ve got some nerve just sauntering your way in here you little-”

“Oooh, and such thick arms!” The surgeon reached over to try and touch one, but it was snapped away. “Aw come on, don’t have to be so shy~”

The protagonist looked like they were about to explode with laughter.

The butcher let out a low rumbling sound, looming as high and wide as they could The surgeon was completely unintimidated- in fact, they looked completely  _ delighted _ . They leaned on the counter and stared up through some of the longest eyelashes ever. “You wanna stay like that awhile? It's a nice view.”

“I could tear you limb from limb without a second thought.” The butcher’s voice was snarling and harsh.

“And I could have you subdued within moments.” The surgeon took a syringe from their labcoat's pocket, twirling it around in their fingers like a butterfly knife. “I don’t go anywhere without sedatives. You know we’re vulnerable out here. Until the protagonist dies and respawns, we’re out of luck.” Their grin widened even further beneath the mask. “Nice try to scare me, though~”

 

The butcher was silent. Their shoulders dropped. This was not the confrontation they’d expected. They had thought they could just scare the surgeon away with a few nasty threats and maybe a slight scuffle. They had never anticipated any resistance, especially not with such confidence.

They also hadn’t expected to find it so attractive.

 

After an incredibly awkward snack (those nasty hospital pudding cups, provided as a peace offering), the butcher tried to get away so they could go back to work. One stray comment kept them from returning to the corpse in the back of the shop.

“They’re so strong I bet they could hold us both at once.” The protagonist had said it at just the right volume to get the butcher’s attention.

The surgeon let out a chattering laugh. “There’s no way. Sure, they’re a thick kinda guy, but-”

Before the sentence could be finished, the surgeon was scooped up and tossed over the butcher’s shoulder. The protagonist looked incredibly smug that they’d had the desired effect. The surgeon had turned themself around to sit comfortably on one of the butcher’s shoulders, leaning both arms on the top of the butcher’s head. The protagonist, when lifted, mimicked the position. The butcher had to lift their arms slightly to keep them both from sliding off. 

The surgeon gave the butcher’s head an appreciative pat. “Never been so happy to be wrong~ If this is how you treat all your guests I think I might come back more often.”

The protagonist caught a glimmer of hope in the butcher’s eye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted from mobile in the car so i appologise for any format problems!


	10. Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god 10 whole chapters?? And you guys are still sticking with me?? Decided to reward you guys by finally giving my dumb murderchildren a moment of happiness.  
> The butcher and the protagonist sort out their feelings about each other.

The room was thick with words unsaid.

The morning after the surgeon’s visit started with their usual breakfast together. It was a tough thing to manage- meats were in easy supply, but everything else had to be scrounged up from the grimy corners of the world they lived in. Today they had some eggs from a giant snake, dubious spices from an old poison-making factory, and thigh meat. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. Usually, the protagonist would eat while the butcher complained about the other shopkeeps (the shepherd from one of the later areas had been giving them a hard time lately about flirting around instead of doing their job), but they were both silent.

The protagonist sipped their coffee (a tin of which they’d stolen from a haunted office building) and tried to think of how to ask what they had to know.

The butcher watched with mild interest as the protagonist thought. It was a strange sight- usually they both made such snapping decisions. What could be so important?

The protagonist stirred their coffee with a little spoon. They didn’t look up as they spoke. Their voice was soft, but it sounded much louder when compared to the rest of the shop. “So… I’ve got something I… Need to ask you.”

The butcher didn’t think this could be anything too urgent, but they listened with care anyways. “Go ahead.”

“Well, ah, you… You’ve been telling me for a while that… That you like me. Not out loud, but in your own way.” They closed their eyes and remembered some of those moments with a hazy fondness. “And I was just wondering-”

The butcher tapped their hand lightly with a finger to stop them. “Come on. We both obviously know the answer to that question. You don’t have to say it.”

The protagonist looked like someone had just lifted a weight off their entire existence. “I’ve got a different question then.”

“Go on…?”

“Can we have a real kiss?” They stopped stirring the coffee, stumbling through their words. “I-I mean, I know you kissed me while you were… Yknow, eating me alive… But I didn’t get the chance to…” They waved the spoon around to try and find the right way to say things. “...Reciprocate?”

The butcher waited a while to say anything back. They couldn’t think any way to respond that could feel as serious. “I’m not sure you want anything cute with the face under this mask. Not exactly equipped for soft stuff.”

“That’s fine.” The protagonist finally looked up at them. “I’ve wanted it ever since you showed me your face the first time.”

 

The butcher took a deep breath before reaching for the mask’s straps. To be doing something like this at all was baffling, but it wasn’t even happening in the back of the shop. Were they really ready to let this happen? There was no fuel of rage, of hunger, of their usual greed and gluttony… This was real. Open. Personal.

The thought made them so afraid that they could almost flee, back to their land of blades and saws and enormous meat smokers where life was simple, quick, gory, but they had already taken the mask off and  _ oh god _ the protagonist’s hand was so soft on their cheek.

“You’ve got so many scars.” The protagonist traced each one with their finger, watching how the butcher’s eyes blinked and flicked in a way they’d never done before. Was this… Nervousness?

“Your heart’s going fast.”

“Not exactly used to such a spotlight.”

“That’s not what you’re nervous about, though.”

“Pretty confident about that?”

“I… I think I know you well enough to tell by now.”

 

The butcher felt themself starting to get shaky. This was so completely foreign. They had no experience with anything like this. Was there a way to back out? Did they really  _ want  _ to back out…?

The protagonist ran a finger beneath the butcher’s top lip, feeling the gnarled maw underneath. They were well acquainted with the awe inspiring power it posessed. “You should grow tusks. They’d look good on you.”

“They’d make it a little harder for you to do any more weird snuggly stuff.”

“Is that you saying you’re open to me wanting more snuggly stuff?”

“Quit batting your fuckin eyelashes, that’s not what I said. Just get on with the-”

 

The protagonist had to stand on tiptoe to actually kiss them. It started out as swift and nervous, but was quickly deepened when the butcher scooped them up to be at eye level. Neither of them were exactly sure what they were doing, but that didn’t matter. It only ended when the protagonist ran out of breath.

It then happened over, and over, and over again. They ended up leaned over the front counter, completely oblivious to the outside world, too absorbed in each other to care. The protagonist was going to be left with a plethora of bruises and hickeys when this was all over, but at the moment, it really didn’t matter. All that mattered was the fact that this could finally happen.

\-----

“For once I’m genuinely sorry I messed you up so badly.”

“It’s fine, I just need to lay down for a while and catch my breath.”

“You sure you can walk okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I can figure it out, it’ll just hurt for a while.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3  
> Edit: Guess who's a big dumb nerd and made it a tumblr page! Butchershopstory.tumblr.com is a thing that's happening RIGHT NOW!


	11. Lamb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> holy shit it's been an entire month since I posted a new chapter!! I'm so sorry, school has been kicking my ass lately. please forgive me for my sins  
> also, in case you didn't see, butchershopstory.tumblr.com is up and running! I'll be posting some little side-story bits there, if you want more content! (specifically, I'll be writing the actual scene of Protag's death in this chapter- kept it out of the main story so there wouldn't have to be an emetophobia warning)  
> new character again!

“Oh, good morning! Doesn’t seem like I’ve ever met YOU before.” The eyes on the lamb-face mask were slightly glittery. The protagonist couldn’t tell if there were eyes behind or not. It didn’t bother them, though.

“No, guess you haven’t met me before. You’ve got a nice shop.” The protagonist admired the little stall with some amusement. It was in an open meadow surrounded by forests. Those woods were crawling with mutated wolves. The meadow, however, was serene. Pristinely brushed and fluffed sheep dotted the landscape. The stall they were facing was the only sign of human activity for miles.

The stall itself was made of light wood, and its canopy was white and pink. It had a white lacy trim. The stall matched the outfit of its owner- a frilly pink dress, fluffy and clean. They wore a lamb’s face for a mask.

The protagonist fiddled with the stall’s many items. There were bottles and boxes of all sorts. The clearer bottles revealed that their contents were sparkly and goopy, and came in a rainbow of colors. “Did you make these yourself?”

The response was cheery and delighted. “Of course! Shepherding isn’t exactly a complicated job, at least, not around here. I have to have hobbies.” The shepherd’s head tilted very slightly. “Need anything?”

The protagonist nodded. “There’s some kinda key item I need, but I can’t figure out what it is. It’s to unlock a-”

The shepherd pointed around the stall with their crook. “I know, I know. It’ll be a long time until you end up somewhere you can grab the key from. For now, you’ll need something to heal up.”

The protagonist shrugged. “Usually I get my healing items from Butcher.”

“And there’s no way you can get back to them right now. They show up in towns and buildings, right? That’s where their shop can appear if I’m remembering it correctly.” The shepherd gave a tittering laugh. “There’s no buildings anywhere in this zone. Just me.”

That was… A little worrying. “I guess that makes sense. Thank you for helping while Butch is away.”

The shepherd’s voice seemed to waver slightly. “So you’re even giving them nicknames? Gosh, I knew it was bad, but I didn’t know it had gotten THIS bad so quickly!”

The protagonist seemed more concerned than angry. “Bad? What’re you talking about?” All they received in response was a fluttery giggle and a wave of the crook in a circle.

The shepherd, when the silence had gone on too long, started speaking again- the tone had gone back to excitement. “Aw, come on, don’t look so sad. I’m just teasing. Now, what do you need?”

\---

The protagonist stormed back up to the stall, their previous death still ringing in their ears. “You little-”

“Calm down, calm down! What’s wrong? Are you okay?” The empty lamb’s eyes betrayed no emotion.

“You little shit, you sold me poison! I drank it and it killed me! It wasn’t even quick!” The protagonist slammed the empty bottle onto the ground. “Good thing I hit a savepoint or you would’ve set me back by hours!”

The shepherd put a silk-gloved hand up to cover the sheep’s mouth, tilting their head down in shame. “Oh no, did I give you the wrong thing?? I’m so sorry! I make those to keep the wolves away!” They shuffled around the stall in panic. “I never meant to hurt you, I swear! Oh, if you’re as close with the butcher as everyone says you are, they’ll-”

“Wait. Everyone?” The protagonist’s rage was splashed out. “Who’re you talking about?”

The shepherd fiddled with their crook, glancing side to side. “All the named characters, ones with a real identity, everyone who isn’t just mindless critters. Word gets out quick, you know. People have been saying you’re close.” The movement halted like a switched-off animatronic. “VERY close.”

“A-And what’s that mean?”

The shepherd sprung back into their normal position, seemingly unphased by the fear they’d had before. “It doesn’t mean anything you should worry your little head about. Now, here- I’ll give you a second bottle half price, since I messed up so bad. Is that okay?”

The protagonist sighed, trying to process everything in their head. “Fine. That’s fine. I’ll be back if I need anything else.”

\---

“DID YOU SERIOUSLY SELL ME TWO DIFFERENT BOTTLES OF POISON??”


	12. Neon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The butcher goes outside, then immediately back in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> school has been wrecking my ass  
> all AP classes  
> i have to streak plates tomorrow  
> i spent an hour inoculating broths and pouring agar on friday night  
> im losing my mind  
> this one is especially short because of how it ends ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

“They did… What?”

“They fucking poisoned me TWICE!”

“And what do you expect me to do? Just leave the shop and go help you?”

The protagonist was fuming, and this was NOT the response they wanted. They jittered around from their spot on the back counter. “You’re supposed to help me. That’s your purpose in the game.”

The butcher put a hand on their forehead. “Listen, kid, I’m not here to be your guard dog. I’m here to sell-”

“They said us being in a relationship was a bad thing.”

Now that was a reason to stop. The butcher paused mid-swing, the leg on the counter abandoned as they whirled around. For once, it wasn’t towards the protagonist- it was towards their other tools. “They’re right, they’re damn right, but there’s no way I’m lettin that shit slide. What else did they say?”

The protagonist had a wily little grin. Now  _ this  _ was more like it. “Well…”

\-----

“Huh. That’s not what I expected.”

The butcher stood in front of their own shop for the first time. They looked in through the window with a strange reverence. “Thought it’d be a little bit bigger on the outside.”

The protagonist stood beside them. “Nope. Just the door and this window.” They pointed up. “And the sign. Good thing it glows, or else I might never be able to find you.”

The butcher looked up at the neon sign. It was dull, some of the bulbs flickered in and out, and every once and awhile it seemed to go completely dark before flashing back to life. A spark flew from it every few minutes. The poor thing was barely alive, but it never turned off permanently. “It’s cute.” The butcher was just tall enough to touch the bottom. The bulbs were hot. “The pig face is a nice touch.”

The protagonist would usually have laughed at something like that. This didn’t seem like a time to laugh, though. “Yeah. I doodle it sometimes, when I can get ahold of anything to draw with. Reminds me you’re always gonna be somewhere, even if you’re not nearby.”

The butcher shoved them gently. “Quit getting emotional.” They each let out a melancholy laugh. Something felt… Wrong. The protagonist stopped laughing sooner than usual.

“What’d you mean when you said Shepherd was right?”

The butcher’s laugh didn’t fizzle out like the protagonist’s had. It cut off sharply once the words got out. They froze. “I… It’s complicated, alright? They’re right, but it doesn’t mean they get to-”

“You’re trying to redirect things. You’re not answering me.” Sadness started to roll over into frustration, an oddly twinged anger. “What did you mean?”

“W-we should go back inside.”

\-----

The protagonist wouldn’t sit on the counter. They stood, arms crossed, waiting. The butcher was fiddling with their tools, trying to think of something to say. For the first time, the protagonist could see them getting genuinely afraid to speak. They swung one of the heaviest knives back and forth at their side. The swinging motion was helping them to calm down and collect their thoughts. The butcher took a deep breath before they spoke, picking through each word like one might explode. 

“The reason it’s a bad idea is because you’re… You’re literally the protagonist, it’s even your name.”

The protagonist muttered a little “it’s not my actual name, but go on.”

“And I’m a shopkeep. We’re not meant to even talk. We’re not doing what we’re meant to do. I’m not saying that it isn’t fantastic, because it is, it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me in any-” They stopped, trying to backtrack on their words, but the protagonist had already heard it. “...Ever happened to me.”

“Any  _ what? _ ” They leaned in, eyes narrowing. “What aren’t you telling me?”


	13. Spin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Round and round and round they go  
> Where they stop, only Shepherd knows

“So, wait, explain it again.” The protagonist was trying so, so hard to understand what they were being told. The butcher was starting to get tired of repeating themself.

“The game ends. A new protagonist goes through, makes new decisions, wins the game. Everything restarts. A new one of you comes. Life begins again, to use the words off one of those cat posters.” They sighed, long, deep, heavy. “And you’re- you, I mean you, really you -you’re the… The best thing that’s ever happened to me in any loop. This is the first time you’ve actually talked to me.”

The protagonist leaned back, trying to stifle a laugh. “I’ve done a lot more than just talk to you.” This was responded to with a bonk on the head by a knife handle. They didn’t actually mind, even though it hurt. If they minded then the butcher wouldn’t do it. 

“That’s the problem. We’re too close. The loop… Everything just gets harder this way.” The butcher kept their eyes away from the protagonist’s face. “It’s harder for you to end it.”

The realization came like the tide. One moment you were sitting on the dock, the water far below you, and then suddenly you were drowning.

The butcher waited a long time to continue. They let the tide settle. “Winning the game means you get to go home.”

“...But you’re my home.”

 

\-----

 

“You’re back.”

“Yeah.”

“Here to make Butcher beat me up?”

“No. They’re not here. They got too scared of leaving the shop.”

The shepherd’s laugh was lower than usual. It was restrained, sad. “Sounds right. I assume you told on me. Wailed to ‘em that I called your little dance a bad-”

“I understand why.”

The shepherd stopped moving. “...Well that’s new.”

The protagonist gave a long, drawn-out sigh. “The more I wait here, the longer it takes for the game to end. The more attached I get, the harder it’ll be for me to leave. That’s why you want me to stop.”

The shepherd looked around, as if they were suspicious that maybe the butcher was listening. “That’s… Not exactly it. If it’s honesty hour, yknow, my only concerns aren’t with you. I have my own interests.”

The protagonist’s expression shifted to mischief. “Interests? You  _ can’t _ be saying what I think you are.” At this, the shepherd spluttered and waved their crook around as if they could smack the question out of the air. 

“Not like that, idiot! I mean like friends. Before they got all wrapped up with you, the butcher and I were on speaking terms, if you’d believe it.”

“That’s not how you’ve been talked about. All I’ve heard is… Well, can’t put it nicely, it’s pretty bad.”

The shepherd let out a chirping laugh. “I bet I know most of it.” Their tone was too calm to be true. “Butcher’s never been a kind person.”

The protagonist fluffed up like an angry cat. “They’ve been nice to me! How would you know? You’re not ever there.”

“You’re right.” The bluntness of that was a reason for silence. They hadn’t even noticed the background music until it faded out. “...Have you seen their face yet?”

“...Yet?” With everything going on, that phrasing was strange. “What’s that mean?”

“Because if you see it before the end, you’re on a different path. I just wanted to check on you.” The shepherd fiddled with their crook.

“Is it the one you want me to take?”

“It's the one that’ll kill you the slowest.”

“And… Is that bad?”

“Only for me.”


	14. Ribbon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Halloweeeeeeen  
> The best holiday  
> The best time for updates

Silence.

They were alone.

None of the animals stirred from the edges of the woods.

A lost lamb ran across the field in a blind panic.

“I don’t think that’d help you trust me at all. Think it’d do the opposite.”

“I saw under Butch’s mask. Nothing else can scare me anymore.”

“I’m not like them.”

The ribbon holding the shepherd’s mask on glimmered satin in the sunlight.

“Please?”

A deep pause. The eyes of the mask seemed to bore holes into their soul. “You aren’t ready for that.”

“If you want my timeline sped up it’d probably be a big leap.” The protagonist reached forward to touch the mask. Real fur. Real wool. A real sheep’s face. The only fake piece was the eyes. They were a soulless glass. “Don’t you want me sped up?”

The laugh rattled through the mask. It made the protagonist pull their hand away.

“I already told you- you’re not ready.”

“I am. I won’t be afraid. I trust you. Er, well…” They stumbled for words. “I trust that you won’t kill me without asking first.”

“Are you sure?” A silk-gloved hand slid up beneath the wool of the mask. It was feeling something. “How do you know I won’t?”

“I don’t.” The response was too fast. It was too practiced. They had anticipated the question. “I put that same trust in Butcher. If you two are friends, you must deserve it.”

 

One of the gloves reached up and untied the ribbon bow.

Things seemed to stop making sense past that point.

 

Those eyes were too bright

That wasn’t human skin

Ears flicked back and forth

That mouth was too wide too deep too long too many teeth and a long, long jaw and that tongue snaked out and up and around and grasped at bottles and came close

Those eyes were too bright

This wasn’t a human face

Their eyes swam in the sight, coming closer, pulled closer to it, the tongue wrapping around their waist and pulling them in, one hand buried deep in the soft, soft fur of the shepherd’s cheeks

Those eyes were too bright

The tongue slid around their leg and buckled their knee and they were kneeling, just how they needed to be

The shepherd was standing on the counter and staring down

Those jaws were so powerful

Plumes of beautiful colors of smoke, steam, gas were escaping from deep in that mouth ( _ muzzle? _ )

The Big Bad Wolf didn’t seem like a title with enough weight

 

“Grandma, what big teeth you have.”

The lamb’s voice chided back from the mask- “All the better to ruin you with.”


	15. Informative

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Me @ me: update your shit. You missed last month. What the fuck
> 
> Update 1/5/17- I'm actually putting on an official hiatus, so that I have time to plan out where I want this story to end up. I've been getting a lot of conflicting ideas about direction. I need time to sort it all out so that I'm not giving you chapters with no substance. Thank you, I love you all ♡
> 
> update 9/3/17 fuck all yall this is my story and i do what i want bitches

“Oh come  _ on,  _ you’ve GOTTA know something about it! Shepherd said everyone with a name is able to change from loop to loop.”

“It’s none of my business. They can fight about you all they please. I already stepped out of it once you beat the area. I-”

“So you admit to knowing about the loops, and you’ve also now told me that they’ve been fighting long enough for you to actually know about it in detail, and that it's about me.”

The surgeon nearly stabbed the protagonist in the eye for that. “Don’t be a smartass. It’s an awful look on you.”

The protagonist sat up from the table, puffing up their cheeks indignantly. “Like you’ve got room to talk. And come oooon, I know you perk up whenever I tell you about their drama, you must know what’s going on!”

The surgeon didn’t face them, just drew up another needle of liquid. (“What’re you injecting?” “Heck if I know. We’ll see what happens.”) As they flicked the bubbles out, the slight hesitation betrayed their uncertainty.

After a short pause, they responded. “I didn’t go to medical school, nearly graduate, get caught mutilating corpses, get kicked out of medical school, get convicted of grave robbing, go to jail, and get stabbed 83 times with my own smuggled-in scalpel to lose my status as a well respected member of this hospital over a fight about the affections of a stubborn twink.”

“...That was… A lot of information. So, wait, what was that last part?”

“I called you a twink.” They injected another round into the protagonist’s thigh, causing the remaining leg to go entirely numb.

“You little shit, you know that’s not what I meant.”

“I’m not going to join in this fight because I’ve already decided to stay out. They’ve been arguing about who you like since we got booted up. The shepherd’s too bitter and vengeful to let go of it, and the butcher doesn’t retain enough memory from each loop to stop making the same mistakes. That’s all I’m going to say.”

The protagonist was, for the first time in their life, stunned speechless.

 

“If I let you cut off the other leg will it calm you down?”

“Absolutely. Hold still.”


	16. Clip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> im gonna eat my own leg and nobody can stop me  
> thank u keith for my life

“You ready to have your world freaked?”   
“Never phrase it like that again.”   
“You don’t control me.” The surgeon continued to move furniture in a seemingly random pattern. “You’re not my parent.”   
“Oh thank god for that.” The protagonist put both hands in their pockets. “Anyway, what the hell are you doing?”   
The surgeon finally finished their work, and brushed their hands off on their apron as if it would clear the grime. (It wouldn’t.) “You’re about to figure out what’s going on. With everything. If you already know about the…” The surgeon wiggled their hands up in the air in an attempt to express ‘temporal shenanigans’ in sign language. “...The changes each time, you might be our shot.” And with this, they knocked over one of the tables, causing an enormous clatter as the Rube Goldberg of furniture came toppling down.   
The protagonist was unconvinced that any of this was a serious statement. “Shot at what? Winning the competition for most boyfriends? Because sorry to say buddy, I’m… Whoa.” They trailed off once they noticed the end result of this destructionary escapade.

One of the shelves was clipped into another, and was now vibrating intensely. The surgeon reached an arm through this mess, turned a knob that was on the other side of the wall, and then grinned like an absolute maniac. It was wide enough that the ends could be seen past the surgical mask. “Our shot at getting the perfect end.”

 

After the shelves were pushed away, it was clear that there had been a door there the entire time. But the door… Didn’t exist. The way through from the surgical office was just a wall. The only way to get there was to get something to clip through and use the polygon mess to reach the handle on the other side.

“How the fuck did you know how to do that?”   
“Family love and determination.”   
As they stepped through the door, the temperature dropped by at least ten degrees. A single glance around the room told them they were somewhere far different than any place they had explored before. The walls were plastered with red string, connected by pins and nails, pulled taut to connect together pieces of what seemed to be a tutorial. Some of these things they had never even considered doing, but others matched their actions to the letter. Interspersed among the cut-out tutorials were flowers, each circled and pointed towards, as if they were the most important piece. There was one wall clear of string, covered in sketches and ideas, each piled up as if they had been collected over years and years. A door in the back lead to a second room, but neither of them could see anything through the small window except a blur of movement. The surgeon gave the protagonist a sideways glance before pulling down their mask and screaming at the top of their lungs.

“MORTY GET OUT HERE OR I’LL STEAL ALL YOUR FLOWERS AND GIVE THEM TO SHEPHERD!”

The person who burst through the door was not who was expected from a name like that.

They were dressed as if a plague doctor had just gotten back from burying a body in the suburbs. It was odd to see a gardening hat perched on top of a plague hood, but it seemed to work very nicely.

Wait…

That wasn’t unusual at all!

“You’re the person on the save screens! When the game gets saved and it goes dark you’re over by the loading bar! With your flowers!” It was true. This was the person in the little loading animation. They dropped the bucket of water they had been carrying in shock. Thankfully none of it splattered onto their papers, or else that would have been a disaster. Their hands started to flap with enough force to power a small city. When the protagonist glanced towards the surgeon, it was the warmest and most genuine smile they had ever seen.

“Protag, meet my sibling, the mortician! Friend of modders and game-exploiters everywhere! They know everything about everyone. We’ve been working on how to get you the true end ever since we got booted up!” The mortician, still unable to speak with their delight, started moving their arms towards a wall where… That was weird. The words were blurred and unreadable. “This is the only place that doesn’t go back to normal when the game ends. It’s so that people who want to try everything can have a home base where they can track progress. So, as you can see, our game has reached every end but this one- the one that still looks blurred.” The surgeon had dropped their usual fluttering accent, and was now speaking in a much more even and casual tone.

The mortician was finally able to speak. “It’s you!! You recognize me! You know me!” The protagonist could feel them beaming behind their mask. It was almost refreshing, seeing someone so excited for a genuine reason. “Welcome! Welcome to my room! This is where I live!” They gestured around with pride. “I made these!”   
The protagonist was floored by all this information. They traced a finger along one of the winding red paths. They were trying to see where they had gone, and what they could’ve changed. 

“What’re the flowers for?” They had already passed several along their trail, and it seemed to not make any sense. The mortician came up beside them and started to gently pap at each one.Their voice was soft and excited. They’d clearly been holding all this in for a long, long time. “Lilac, violet, rose, tulip… You’ve gone by every single flower that talks about love.” The mortician took the protagonist’s hand with an odd gentleness, moving the pointer finger over to where the strings ended and the blur began. The surgeon took up the task of speaking, since it seemed like the mortician didn’t do much by way of talking. “You’re on track.You’ve earned the love of every single person you’ve met. Now you have to bring it together. If you can fix this, you’ll get somewhere we’ve never seen.”

The protagonist flinched away after a sudden realization. “Wait. If you already know what I need to do, why did I mess it up last time?”

The mortician looked away. The surgeon shrugged.

“You fixed the dispute by getting rid of all of us.”   
“Ah.”

“Which meant you could go home. So I guess it went well.”

“Is there a way to go home that doesn’t involve me… ‘getting rid of’ you?”

Another shrug. “Haven’t found one yet. Someone always has to die.”

“Why?”

The mortician started shaking their head rapidly. They were looking between the surgeon and protagonist with panic. The message of ‘don’t tell them’ was as clear as day. 

The protagonist started to get frustrated again. Actually, it was a little more intense than that. “Nobody tells me anything in this fucking game! I get a scrap of knowledge and then everybody pulls it away! I’m allowed to know that time resets, but I’m not allowed to know why or how. I’m allowed to know that Shep and Butch are fighting, but I’m not allowed to know what it’s really about. I’m allowed to know I’m a unique protagonist, but I’m not allowed to know what I could do differently! Fuck you! Fuck both of you! I’m done with this shit! Just give me  _ something _ I can work with!”

When they opened their eyes from their rant, the mortician was shaking. The surgeon had flinched back and stayed there. Both of them knew something. It was infuriating.

The mortician wrung their hands nervously. “If you know you might not do stuff right. When you know it the path changes. We can’t change. It’s bad right now. You gotta stay.”

There was a moment of silence.

“No. I’m going to figure this out. I’m not sitting around and letting myself forget.” They put a hand on the door handle, but paused. “Thank you. For talking to me, I mean. I’ll be back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fuck everyone this is my story and i update as i please [hoverboards into space]


	17. Meanwhile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sassy gay friend: tumblr ho edition  
> this one is especially small because of the nature of the content but trust me they do this all the time

“And they said  _ what  _ to you??”

“Basically just ‘seeya, bitch! I’m gonna go figure it all out on my own! I’m so smart and pretty I can do whatever I want, I’m the protaaaaaagonist!” The surgeon waved one hand around with all the drama of someone who got kicked out of a high school theater class for getting into a fistfight with a mime. “And now you get to figure out how to make your twin quit crying, even though they don’t have fucking eyes!”

The shepherd looked absolutely scandalized. “So they’re gonna sort out this Weasel mess all by themselves? What a stupid bitch!” They sipped their tea with mild disgust. “Ugh. They’re too smart for their own fucking good. Soon as they get it they’ll just run off again.” They put the teacup in their mouth and smashed it in frustration. As they chewed on ceramic they fiddled with the ribbons of their removed mask, making complex bows and knots.

“At least this one isn’t wild enough to go through with the full sweep, I don’t think. They’ll just come back for you and be done with it.”   
“It’s always fucking me. Is it because I’m an asshole, or am I an asshole because they pick me? Ugh.” They finished the last of the teacup and sat down on the floor of the stall. The surgeon watched them from their perch amongst the bottles. “Wanna make some goo and forget our problems?”

“Duh. Don’t be dumb. I brought star glitter and some clear gloves to put the goo in so we can squish it.” The surgeon leaned over the counter to the space below and began grabbing the necessary ingredients. Mostly just corn starch, but also several different powdered things that the shepherd refused to disclose the identity of. That was fine. The surgeon started mixing things up on the counter, and eventually, the shepherd sat up so that they could assist.

They didn’t talk much for the rest of the visit, but it was a comfortable quiet. They didn’t need to keep whining if they both knew they’d lost hope of ending things smoothly. Sure, they didn’t remember everything from the previous loops (only the mortician could do that) but they knew that there was no happy ending. Nothing ever worked out. To leave, the protagonist had to remember themselves, and at that point all hope was gone. A force like that, with the understanding of how to destroy as they pleased…? It just couldn’t be stopped.

After they had finished the last of the pot of tea, the surgeon decided to head back home. The sun had started to set and navigating in the dark would be a hassle. The shepherd suggested a sleepover, which was first rejected and then accepted upon the realization that the shepherd was like a giant stuffed animal with teeth. They could deal with this in the morning. For now, they just had to wait for the protagonist to fall again, back into that same pattern that closed the loop and returned them to despair.


	18. Extraction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danger Twink: Now, Even Worse

“You were lying to me.”

The butcher was shockingly calm, just continuing to work as if nothing were wrong. “About what?” The knife came down with a weight that shook the counter. The protagonist knew exchanging casual violence for information wasn’t the best thing to do, but it worked.

“You acted like you had never met Surgeon. You said you’d also never met  _ me _ , which must have been a lie. You were happy to see me even though Mortician said I always lead everyone to a bad end. You-”

“Wait, wait. You think that last one counts as lying?” They let out a puff of breath. “If I’m hopeful does that count as a lie?”

The protagonist wriggled and was geared up to protest, but they were shoved back onto the counter with a huff. “You were just being nice to me so I wouldn’t hurt you.”

They shrugged. “A little. But when you walked in, I could tell you were different. I knew you wouldn’t-” They were cut off by a look that felt so foreign and cold it made them put their knife down. They didn’t understand what it meant.

The protagonist shuffled so they were sitting up. “What I read, y'know, it told me I know something. I go through the game, I figure something out, I hurt someone with a name, and I leave. I don’t know why, yet. But I did see your name up there.  _ Several  _ times. If I’ve murdered you- yeah, murder, not just fucking around for fun -even more than once, why are you still excited to see me? Why do you still love me if you’re not just doing this so you’re not next?”

The butcher tried to think of a response, but it was all drowned out by the sudden coldness in the protagonist’s face. That wasn’t simply the anger of someone who had been lied to. That was the look of someone who had been lied to, but had just learned that they had _power._ They took a step back, and as they spoke, made wide gestures with their hands. It was a signal that they weren’t trying to defend themselves physically. “I do love you. Even though it’s a bad idea I still do. What’d I say when the shepherd told you that a relationship was a shit idea? I said even if they were right I wasn’t gonna stop.” They reached up and tapped their head, right between the ears. “You went to see the mortician, right? Then they told ya I’ve got the worst memory out of anybody here. All I’ve got is some real strong feelings, some blurry scenes, and the word of everyone around me.”

The protagonist slumped down when they caught the real meaning of the last statement. Something in the back of their head was clawing and writhing to remind- yes, remind, not realize -that this meant the butcher could be manipulated. They pushed it back. “So every loop I’m nice to you… It just made those feelings stronger, and you don’t even know why.” The butcher chuckled. “Don’t gotta spell it out, kid.”

“So if I just grabbed one of these knives and put it through your skull, when I came back, you’d adore me.”

“That really wasn’t the, ah… Intended effect of that confession.”

“You’ve just caught me in a weird mood, I guess.”

“Yeah.” A long pause. The butcher didn’t know when the protagonist had straightened up so tall, but from their perch on the counter, they were at eye level with each other. “Weird.”

“You don’t know what’s happening. You really don’t know.” The protagonist's head tilted slightly to one side. “So who does?”

“Shepherd. If you’ve wrung everything you can out of the twins at the hospital, there’s only one person left to talk to.” The butcher, with the caution of someone handling a predator in the wild, put a hand on the protagonist’s knee. “I’m not gonna stop you. If you really want... to build your own path, understand the world before you tear it up, that’s for you to decide. Not me.”

The protagonist brushed the hand away.

“Just finish up here so I can get moving.”

\-----

The shepherd looked like they’d been expecting company.

“Time to close up the loop so quickly? And without even needing the last piece.” They brought a hand up to the muzzle of their mask, imitiating a laughing motion. “Maybe that’s how you get the true end, like how Surgeon and Morty want. Figure things out all on your own.”

The protagonist leaned over the stall far enough to hop up and sit. “Nah. Just wanna ask y-”

“Cut the bullshit. You’ve got that look. The one that says you’re not here to play around.”

“Aw, come on.” They grabbed the shepherd by the top of their dress, tugging them forwards. “So what? I just wanna know what’s going on. Don’t have to get defensive.” They locked their legs around the shepherd, both to reel them in and to force them to stay close. “Why’s Butch so mad at you? They said they’ve only got blurry memory. What’d you manage to do to piss them off that bad?”

“Because they still refuse to listen to me when I tell ‘em you’re dangerous.” The way the shepherd tugged at their jacket told them that this wouldn’t just be a quick visit. “But I know. Gotta keep a wriggly little thing like you locked up tight. You’ll always bust out and find your way to the cheese, but Butch keeps on putting their hand in the cage. Says they love you. That’s a goddamn lie.” The protagonist clenched their thighs around the shepherd’s waist in warning.  _ I know I’ve got the upper hand here- don’t say anything you’d regret.  _ The shepherd ignored this. “If all they’ve got is rose-colored haze, some undeveloped film of a memory, and one little squirming twink, how can they call it love? Can’t, in my eyes. All they can call it is what it is- a fuckin’ mistake.”

The protagonist leaned forward. “Why’re you telling me this now?”

“Because when you push yourself over the counter and choke me to death, like your hands are pulling up to do, you’ll walk away. You aren’t listening. You’re waiting.” They puffed out a plume of smoke that got caught in the wind. It wasn’t meant to harm, but to remind the protagonist of what was under that mask. “I’m a wolf. Don’t think I don’t know the difference.”

The protagonist put their hands down.

“You thought you’d be able to end this without even learning the last part. Maybe that is the way to the truth. Make us all fall in love and then pick us off one by one. You don’t even have to know why.”

The protagonist let the words sink in for a second, then smiled. Despite everything, it was a real smile. “So you admit you love me too?”

“Aw fuck you.”

 


	19. Animosity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> eyes emoji  
> yes, it is exactly what you think.

 

The shepherd stood in the door to the shop with a stillness that suggested they may be dead. Well, they  _ were,  _ but that wasn’t the point. They had locked eyes with the butcher across the counter and were staring them down. The look was reciprocated with all the same fury, which made the protagonist almost doubt this move. But… Maybe if they could fix this relationship they could work together. The shepherd had already thwarted their idea of simply making a kill without this “final piece” of the puzzle, so now the strategy had to change. If they brought everyone together, it might just let more information slide. The way things were shaping up, though… It looked like the butcher and shepherd might kill each other outright and force yet another change of plans. 

Now that they’d finally gotten the shepherd out from behind the stall, their true nature was far more obvious. The shepherd’s feet were paws- something impossible to hide easily with socks or shoes. Their legs also bent oddly beneath their leggings, forwards and then back. What was the word for that, again? Digi… Hmph. It started with a D for sure. There was no time to consider this though, because the shepherd was approaching- no, stalking towards the counter. 

“So.” The shepherd crossed their arms onto the counter and used it to push themselves up. “Wanna talk?”

“No.”

“Me neither.” They traced circles in a smudge on the counter. “But we’re here now.”

“We don’t have to talk just because you’re here.” The butcher was keeping their head tilted down. It was a subtle move, but the protagonist had the sneaking suspicion that it was to guard their throat. How did they know that…? Had this happened before?

“We could give it a shot. Try being nice.” The shepherd moved to put their head on their hand, but the butcher snatched their wrist before they could. “Ah. So we’re not even going to-”

“You take that mask off right now and let me see your expression. You’re hiding it.”

“Feeling pushy tonight?” The shepherd gave a fake laugh. They were nervous. “Fine, fine.” They untied the ribbons with an uncharacteristic lack of flair. Outside of the influence of their smoke, the shepherd was almost cute. They couldn’t keep their entire tongue in their mouth due to its sheer length, so a tiny bit peeked out from the front of their muzzle. They looked like they had been freshly groomed, soft and clean and oh so fluffy. Was it on purpose? Were they trying to look helpless? Ah, no… There were those teeth, pulling back in a snarl. The protagonist had lost track of the conversation while they were contemplating the shepherd’s face, so clearly something had been said that set them off. The butcher hadn’t removed their own mask, so there was no way to tell how they were reacting- other than the matching growl, of course. The argument had passed human standards of politeness.

The protagonist tried to step forwards and get between them, but then they noticed the claws that had torn their way through the shepherd’s gloves. This wasn’t something they could stop. It just had to run its course.

After one particularly harsh snarl, the shepherd  _ launched _ forwards. Before the butcher could push them away, they got their jaws around the muzzle of the pig mask and were tugging it hard enough to pull the butcher’s head over to the other side of the counter. It was a blur for a few moments, but then the butcher had the shepherd pinned down to the ground and was leaning their entire weight on the shepherd’s throat. The front of their mask was shredded from the shepherd’s teeth. The shepherd was attempting to reach up and attack with claws, but it was clear that they were rapidly running out of strength. Their tongue lolled out one side of their mouth almost uselessly. 

The protagonist wished they didn’t find this too hot to stop it.

Then, as quickly as the butcher had gained the upper hand, they lost it. The shepherd managed to shoot their tongue out and grab the butcher’s wrists, pulling them off of their throat. They were still pinned at the waist, but they pushed up and forwards to get their jaws- oh, oh god, they really should stop this before someone got killed but god  _ damn  _ was that some good stuff. 

There was a pause in the fight when the butcher caught the protagonist’s eye. They both froze in place, staring between each other. The butcher’s apron and shirt had a series of long claw gashes in the front, and much of the lacing along the edges of the shepherd’s dress was tearing from its fabric. The best part though, in the protagonist’s opinion, was the huge set of bite marks on the butcher’s throat. Would that scar? Each of them was heaving with effort, though all for different reasons. 

The shepherd retracted their tongue so they could speak. The protagonist didn’t register a single word of it. This must’ve been more obvious than they thought, because now the shepherd was absolutely  _ grinning.  _

\---

After everybody got bandaged up, they were finally calm enough to talk together. Warm coffee was a blessing. “So that’s the plan. Get everybody together, learn what they know, see if there’s any way to win without learning whatever I shouldn’t learn.”

“And do you know yet how to win?”

The protagonist shrugged, which was more painful than expected. “Nah. I figure it should be obvious once I get there, right? And I know you said it means I go ‘home’, wherever that is.”

“Mmhm.” The shepherd just held the mug in their hands, savoring the feeling. “So you have to figure out how to go home. Not gonna hold that part back. If we’ve all agreed to work together we shouldn’t keep secrets anymore.” The butcher nodded along.

“And you guys know how to do it?”   
“We know how you’ve done it in the past. But if that won’t end up happening this time, we’ve got nothing.”

“Not nothing. We’ve got a lot more than we think.” The protagonist gave an overdramatic wink. “All we gotta do is ask the mortician for help!”

The butcher laughed, then started coughing and spluttering. Ugh. Still hurt to talk. “They haven’t left their room since the first loop. You try and drag them out and you’ll have to carry them here.”

“We can get Surgeon to come help, too. Then they’ll have somebody to stand next to so they feel safe. Think we can make it happen?” They set down their mug dramatically. The shepherd and butcher both looked mildly amused, and all traces of animosity seemed to have disappeared from the room. The butcher nodded, and the shepherd made a low rumble in the back of their throat that was packed full of fondness.

“I think you can do anything you try, at this point. Go get ‘em. Both, uh, in the metaphorical sense and in the sense of going and getting people and bringing them here.”

“Dork.”


	20. Collection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> that works for me, HOOP

The mortician, at this point, had stopped taking care of their flowers. What good would it do? With the protagonist in a state like this, it was likely they would figure it out any minute and come back to finish their game. They were so close, too… The surgeon had been visiting more often to check on them and give encouragement. Things were looking up. The protagonist had decided that maybe a group meeting would help to gather up ideas. The mortician refused to attend, of course, since they were convinced that this was a trap. Sure their flowers hadn’t gone black yet, but they might’ve figured it out some other way. The moment the protagonist found-

They realized they had no choice but to attend since the surgeon was significantly stronger than them and was not above carrying them all the way to the nearest shop. 

 

The meeting was held over breakfast. Pancakes, slightly suspicious bacon, and homemade eggs were all on display, and the shepherd was tearing into them with reckless abandon. The butcher was midway through an incredibly large stack of pancakes. Their mask hadn’t yet been repaired, but they seemed unbothered by this. They were mostly distracted by the feast the protagonist had made to pacify everyone. 

“Where’d you find pancake mix in a place like this?”

“It’s not hard to make it from scratch, y’know. There’s a whole kitchen in your hospital I raided to scrap. Plus, I’ve been hanging out with these two for 2 days, so we’ve got some collective cooking knowledge.”

“You had a sleepover without me?” The surgeon put a hand to their chest, eyes narrowing. “I’m shocked and appalled. I guess you guys really do hate me.”

The shepherd said through a mouthful of food something about making it up to them, but it was brushed off as a joke. The protagonist gave them a gentle scolding nose boop, which was responded to with a snap at their fingers. Quick reflexes were one of the protagonist’s best traits.

The surgeon pulled up a chair to the table, and the mortician followed soon after. The surgeon and shepherd exchanged a quick glance before focusing back on the protagonist, who was now finishing up their last bites of food. As they pushed their plate away their guests started to go still.

“Don’t wanna make this get too tense. I just was wondering if getting everybody together would help us figure out how to-”

“It won’t be enough.”

The mortician seemed nervous to hear their own voice, but continued regardless. “It won’t be enough to stop things. I’ve seen how you end. You won’t know how to get home until you know what you shouldn’t.”

The protagonist watched with an interest that only the shepherd realized was predatory. Something inside them was itching to take matters into its own hands, writhing with the knowledge that they knew something forbidden but just couldn’t remember what. The protagonist was changing. Or, to be truthful, they were simply becoming what they had always been. They knew the mortician was speaking, but their own thoughts were blocking up their ears. Had always been. Something was clicking into place that should never have clicked at all.

It only took a moment for the mortician to figure out they weren’t being listened to. Their hands were shaking. The protagonist stumbled out an apology, but it was empty. Everyone was here. Everyone was close. They all loved each other so deeply and so wholeheartedly, each in their own unique way. Why was that important?

The protagonist stood up, trying to clear out whatever was creeping in. The butcher tried to reach a hand towards them to calm them, but even someone with only a blur of memory could tell that this hadn’t happened before. They were too close to the end without finding the one thing they had to get. It hit them like a wave that had been lapping at their feet but now decided to rise and swallow them.

They weren’t supposed to know this yet.

But know  _ what? _

The surgeon grabbed their wrist before they collapsed to the ground.

 

They weren’t out for long, but when they sat up, they felt much better. The tide had lowered again. “What the fuck was that??”

The shepherd wasn’t looking them in the eyes, but instead was waiting on a teapot to heat on a small portable stove behind the counter. “You’re figuring shit out too fast. Not supposed to have a meltdown until you… You know.” They swirled a finger around their head. “Do everything Morty tells you not to. Which you’re real fuckin good at lately, asshole. You made them cry earlier.” The shepherd grabbed a set of teacups and started pouring them out, stirring sugars and creams into three of the cups. They handed each person one and then plopped onto a table. “Don’t say you’re sorry, you’re a shit liar. Just don’t do it again.”

The butcher downed their teacup in one gulp. “Wow. Never seen you care about someone before.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know what it means you possessive little-”

“Guys!” The surgeon put a hand on their hip and gestured with their cup. “You’re getting off track.”

The protagonist sniffed the tea apprehensively before taking a sip. They immediately had to choke to keep from spitting it out. With some reluctance, they swallowed and looked at the shepherd in mild horror. “Did you just hand me sugared  _ ramen broth? _ ”

“Duh. Isn’t it good?”

The protagonist looked terrified, but nodded. “Chicken, right? The powder kind?”

“Only kind I’ll make anymore. The shrimp flavor doesn’t play nice with cream and the beef is better cold.” The shepherd set their now-empty teacup on the table and stretched. They had removed their corset and were breathing deeply for once. Without it their natural shape became far more clear, which made the protagonist realize just how little they had ever seen of the shepherd’s real body. Aesthetic to death, they guessed.

“Now that we’ve had a minute to relax, we can sort shit out.” The butcher leaned against the counter as they spoke. “It’s obvious we can’t hold you back from remembering all the things you shouldn’t. So we decided together that… We’ll just let it happen naturally. If you never get the item that usually reminds you, maybe you won’t get hit with the shock so hard. Might buy us time to find a solution.”

“Then why don’t you just tell me? Then-”

“No.” The butcher cut them off without any hesitation. “Not now. You’re in a room full of people who could get hurt. Our whole goal is to keep you from hurting anyone.”

The protagonist stood up and tried to stretch out, but something was hurting that they couldn’t explain. It felt cold. They didn’t want to figure out why. They decided trying to feel physically better was a useless feat, so they just sat down on a chair and accepted it. Their voice was far whinier than they’d expected. “Fine. Guess I don’t get the easy option. I’ll do it on my own.”

The mortician chimed in “That sounds like a load of bullshit, but okay!” and the shock of hearing them cuss stopped any response that could’ve been constructed. Everyone collectively decided to move past it. 

The surgeon coughed to break the silence. “So, uhm… Should we just… Dismiss? Come back together once they’ve got shit figured out?”

The protagonist nodded, somewhat reluctantly. “Yeah. I’ll get as far as I can, then call everybody back once I’ve, uh… got my shit together. Mentally.”

The butcher gave a poorly-muffled laugh. The protagonist noticed that their mask had been repaired with surgical stitches. “Kiss before you go?”

“We’re not married, Butch.”

“We’re a little married.”

“I know and I love it.”


	21. Live

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So scream and shout, make a whole lotta noise  
> Don’t be afraid, let the night run out  
> Well, after all, it’s a television show  
> The audience is swaying to and fro  
> -GHOST, Broadcast Illusion

The protagonist was a much better liar than the shepherd gave them credit for. They never intended to come back until they had found this object all on their own. Then, once they had it, they would understand what to do. How did anyone expect them to make a plan if they didn’t even know what to avoid? Well, obviously they had to avoid killing anyone, but… What if that was the only way? What if that was just how they had to do things? And maybe there was a reason for it. Maybe they learned that these people deserved to die. Well… Of course, they had all already proved that. They were in hell, after all.

A thought made the protagonist so dizzy they had to lean against a lamp post.

They were in hell. All of them were dead- they had all said it before. The surgeon got murdered in prison, the butcher had succumbed to famine, and the shepherd most likely slipped up and drank the wrong vial. As they stared down at their hands, they could trace the edges of the space where that missing puzzle piece fit. It seemed so obvious.

How did  _ they _ get here?

 

Something was being hidden from them. They knew it. Whatever they were meant to find wasn’t in its proper place anymore. If the mortician and surgeon had been working together to change the timeline, there was no way they would’ve left something like that sitting around. This meant it was somewhere they wouldn’t think to check. Or… It was somewhere they would never be able to get.

The fucking shepherd had been hiding it this whole time, hadn’t they?

Their approach was clearly not one with happy tidings attached. The shepherd hadn’t put on any formal face for this. They knew what it was time for. 

“This is why you’re the one I go after, isn’t it?”

A short pause. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You’ve got it. I don’t know what it is, but you’ve been hiding it. You’re the one who always tries to slow me down. That’s what you said, isn’t it? You want the loop to slow down?” The protagonist’s voice had gone empty of emotion. “Well you got it. You dragged this shit along from the moment I fucking met you. You put me back by days- maybe even weeks -just by bringing the butcher into this. How many times have you done that? How did you know I’d go running straight to them?” They had both hands on the counter now. “You used the time to take whatever I’m looking for and hide it.”

The shepherd waited to make sure the speech was over, then gave a round of slow, unenthusiastic applause. “I’m surprised. Last time you didn’t even bother to tell me why. God, last time I was stupid enough to try and keep it right in my own stall.” They leaned back, a resigned smile on their face. “I can’t even imagine the disaster that caused. Surgeon never let you meet Mortician so as soon as you got your paws on it you went wild. Didn’t get exact details, but it must’ve been great.” 

“I’m not in the mood to play around here. You’ve been fucking with me this whole time. All this time I was angry everyone else was holding back… You told me the most, so I never even thought to point a finger your way.” They reached out, gently cupping the shepherd’s cheek in their hand. The shepherd leaned into the touch. “All this fucking time.”

“And aren’t you going to ask me where it is?”

“No.”

The shepherd raised one eyebrow. “Oh?”

The protagonist grabbed the fur of their cheek and tugged it forwards hard enough to pull out several strands. They felt the shepherd’s pulse quicken. “You’re just going to tell me.”

 

\---

 

The butcher wasn’t there in the shop when the protagonist arrived. It made the place feel… Cold. Something was wrong.

As they went into the back room they realized what was going on. All of the ovens and smokers were turned completely off. They hadn’t noticed it before, but not even the lights were on. It was as if someone had just cut the power and run. They could smell the meat in the freezer warming up. That meant that this place had been abandoned for several hours. The butcher must have cleared out as soon as their breakfast meeting was over. Clever. What struck them as odd was that nothing had been taken. All knives were in their place, as if the butcher would be coming back any minute. If this had been a trap then wouldn’t they have taken out the opportunity to fight back?

No. The butcher had said they wanted them to find out naturally. Let it come back.

This wasn’t a trap. This was the butcher handing it to them. This was the choice to walk away.

When had they ever taken a chance to walk away?

They hesitated at the entrance to the freezer despite themselves. What if they truly didn’t want to know? What if this was a mistake? Maybe they could fix things. They’d been given a second chance. Could they really waste it like this?

This entire life was a second chance. Being trapped here was another chance. Whatever they had done up there to get them sent someplace like this… They had ruined their first shot. Should they do the same to their second?

 

It was hanging on a hook in the back corner. The eyes were empty in a way that drew them in, a gentle invitation to fill that spot they had always held. They could still turn around. They could leave it here. They knew now what they were missing, so they could turn away from it. Right?

The straps were made from thick nylon. This wasn’t amateur work. As they felt the fur beneath their fingers, they remembered how much of a bitch it had been to make. Hours and hours of attempts. It had been worth it, though. The semi-opened mouth gave plenty of ventilation through the teeth. The silhouette was fantastic in a backlit room. It stayed on no matter what. They traced circles around the eyes and felt a weight lift off their shoulders. This was how it was supposed to be. This belonged to them, and they were meant to have it. When they got out of here they would have to brush the fur back smooth. The shepherd had gotten it a bit ruffled around the edges in their flight.

Ah. That’s right. What do you do with masks but put them on?

 

\-----

 

_ “Are we live? Great!” _ _   
_ _ Someone leaned back from the camera. The live feed paused, flickered, and then went steady. In the dim light, they were almost obscured. Their face was unrecognizable.  _

_ “This is day 19. Does anybody have any suggestions on what I might need to do next?” _

_ The chat sprung to life. They weren’t truly reading, but if they wanted to keep an audience, they had to make it look like they cared. _

_ “Well, I’ll just follow what’s gotten us closest in the past. Maybe if we lose track of things I’ll try out some of your ideas! How’s that sound?” They took a step back from the camera. The silhouette of their head was a smooth slope down to a pointed muzzle. Two rounded ears came off from either side. Two little eyes glinted in the dim light, unfeeling glass that somehow betrayed more emotion than real eyes ever could. _

_ Behind them was much better lit. Someone was handcuffed to a metal loop on the ground. The walls were concrete and plain, seemingly scrubbed clean. Something was drawn on the floor, but it wasn’t clear from the angle what it could be- the audience knew, however. They had seen it before, and had even criticized its symmetry until it was perfect. The person on the ground was crying. They were sitting on their knees with their head slumped forwards pathetically. The one standing grabbed them by the hair and pulled their face up, high enough that you could hear their shoulders pop slightly from the pull. Their face was carved intricately, and in many places, their lip was torn enough to see teeth through it. Both figures were facing the camera now. _

_ “Gosh, if we don’t get this done quick they may just whine themself to death! Won’t you?” Their captive was rattled by the head in a jerked, forced nod that evolved into an experiment in how far their arms would stretch. After that got boring they were dropped to the ground, where their head hit the floor with a crunch. _

_ “Now come on. Don’t bleed all over my floor just yet! Everyone knows that to get into Hell it takes sacrifice. Not just cutting open a chicken or something. I mean emotional, physical, total sacrifice. You gotta give yourself up! Nobody gets in without it. Didn’t you hear in the news last month about the doctor who got caught making corpses into surgical toys? Gosh, they must’ve…! Ah, I can’t even think about it!” Despite their obscured face, it was clear from their body language that they were having a great time imagining it. “That’s the stuff I’m talking about! As a doctor you get so much trust, so much love, and to break it all so deeply!” They knelt down next to the other figure, who hadn’t moved since they fell. Not death, just… Resignation. “Sure I’m only making one person at a time fall in love with me, but I think I can crack enough eggs to make this scramble tasty! And on camera, too! When I get this bad boy open you’ll all get to see, and then you can do it too!”  _

_ The chat exploded once again. No usernames were allowed, but they could identify frequent visitors by typing style. They took those comments much more seriously than those who just wanted a peek. Someone joked that they’d feel a little empty without this stream as nightly entertainment.  _

_ “Of course I’ll turn the stream back on once I get back! I’m not just gonna die, silly. The whole point is to prop open the door enough that I can come home afterwards. If I didn’t come back this would just be a boring Red Room stream! You’re here for something better than that.” They grabbed the camera off of whatever it had been attached to, swinging it around so that they could get incredibly close. “And when I come home I’ll be unstoppable. I’ll be the hero of the story. And you, all of you, who’ve helped me so well will get to hear all about what I learned!” The camera got pulled back so that both figures were in the shot once more. It was a selfie-like position, and the camera operator had an arm around the person (who seemed to have already considered and reconsidered both suicide and murder). “Can you believe I got this idiot here to fall for me? Fifth one this month! And by-” _

_ They felt a sharp pain in the hand not holding the camera. _

_ The victim had ripped around to bite into their wrist. _

_ As they attempted to free themselves, the wound got larger.  _

_ They dropped the camera on the ground. _

 

\-----

 

It was time to go home.


	22. Break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Kinky Lil Fucker - Today at 1:49 PM  
> Choo CHoo! All Aboard the Angst Train"

When they turned to leave the freezer, they were greeted with a familiar face. The butcher was standing in the doorway. After just a moment of quiet, the butcher was the one to speak.

“So.”

Another short pause.

“So?”

The protagonist- no, wait, that name wasn’t quite right. It was their title, yes, but it wasn’t the one they’d found. It would work for now, though. The protagonist still didn’t respond.

“Come on. I know you’re not mute behind there.”

The protagonist pulled their sleeve back, glancing at the scarring there. They had always dismissed it as some sort of coloring error, but now they recognized the shape of teeth. It had gone deep hadn’t it? They’d been too panicked to stop the bleeding before it made them too faint to fix it. Gosh, what did the stream look like now? Just a feed of them laying on the ground dead? How much time had gone by out there? They hoped they hadn’t been found yet. But… If that boy had managed to somehow get free, then they would’ve called the cops by now. Damn. Was this all for nothing?

“Hey. I know you can hear me.”

No, no. It wasn’t for nothing. They knew how to prop the door open just wide enough to slide through. 

“Please just say something.”

They shrugged. “I just don’t have much to say.”

“Bullshit, you’re the noisiest person I know.”

“I’d usually make a sex joke here but… Not really the time.”

The butcher let out an amused chuff. “Did you really just hold back from a sex joke? Really? Damn, that thing really did change you.”

The protagonist crossed their arms and puffed up their cheeks, even though their face wasn’t visible under the mask. “No it didn’t! You were being serious so I didn’t wanna ruin it if we were having a cool moment!” They stomped one foot petulantly. “Cmon, lemme be dramatic for 5 minutes! I deserve it! I just had a whole flashback sequence!”

“And I had a flashback sequence while eating microwave ramen at 3am in my underwear but that doesn’t make me special. Now let’s get out of here. It’s cold. Turned this thing off hours ago but it’s still miserable.”

“Just like me.”

“Oh… My GOD. Are you SERIOUS right now.”

“YOU CAN’T CRITICIZE ME FOR DROPPING THE OPPORTUNITY TO MAKE A SEX JOKE AND THEN YELL AT ME FOR MAKING ONE!”

 

\-----

 

The shepherd was  _ not _ happy to see the two of them back. Especially not with the protagonist looking so calm. The surgeon seemed unphased by the development, and the mortician was… Shockingly happy. They were chattering about something that couldn’t be made out from the other side of the field. The shepherd was mixing something up while listening, but their work had stopped the moment they spotted the last two members of the group approaching. The mortician actually  _ waved  _ to them. They were trying to yell something to them, but their mask was not a good conductor of sound. After realizing they couldn’t be heard they removed the mask and cried out at the top of their lungs.

“It changed! It really changed!”

The mortician’s face was a beautiful white bird skull, filled and curled around with flowers that shone bright in the sunlight. It was a huge bloom of red and white chrysanthemum, flowers they hadn’t seen on the walls of the tutorial.  They wished they knew that it meant. The flowers seemed to be growing and shifting to catch the light, slowly but surely opening ever larger. 

As they reached the others, they could see that their reception would be both warm and painful. The shepherd was giving them a glare that could kill, but the mortician was cooing and chirping. The surgeon was purposefully trying to seem unphased. 

“So, uhm… Morty, what exactly changed?” They decided that would be the safest way to start a conversation here. The question was answered by the mortician reaching up and grabbing one of the flowers from their head. Another grew in its place, so they assumed that didn’t hurt.

“These! They change by your route! That’s why they’re on the walls, it’s a tracker!” The protagonist was genuinely impressed by what they were hearing. The mortician continued. “I’ve never gotten these before! They’re new! Something changed! You did something different!” They then looked up at the butcher in delighted awe. “You did it! You did what I said and you stopped them!”

“Stopped me from what?” The protagonist asked. “Well, I mean obviously stopped me from just losing my shit, but I feel like you’re talking about something specific.”

The butcher seemed a little ashamed as they spoke. “Stopped you at the door. I haven’t had the guts to do it before.” They gave a nervous laugh. “Glad to see it worked out.”

“Wait, you were actually scared of me?”

“We all were, you little dipshit.” They bonked the protagonist right between their mask’s ears. “Past-you hasn’t been so nice to us. Soon as you figure out the door’s opened by destroying bonds you find the closest one to break. Usually more than one.”

The protagonist glanced around. The shepherd hadn’t taken their eyes off of them this entire time. Their ears were facing directly forwards and were twitching very slightly. The protagonist smiled to them, even though their face was obscured. It seemed that the message didn’t exactly get across, since in return they got a low snarl. “I’m not joining in this fuckin’ love-fest. This bitch is still the same Weasel we know. Already almost choked me out once.”

The surgeon sighed. “Morty says it’s fine. I trust them. I’m not gonna start handing out hugs but I’m sure not gonna give any reason for them to regret playing nice.”

“No. Fuck this. I’m not playing.” The shepherd hopped one of the stall’s short walls to get out. “We’re doing this my way. One act of kindness doesn’t make up for years of torture.” The shepherd grabbed the protagonist by the collar of their jacket, tugging upwards. “Do you know what you fucking did to me? What you were still willing to do just a few days ago? You turned me against my friends, you spent years murdering me in any way you could find, and sometimes you weren’t even kind enough to tell me why.” The protagonist could feel the claws starting to dig into their skin through their jacket. “Fuck, I thought maybe at least this time you would drop the act once you found your fucking mask. But no. You had to come back all ‘oh hey, guys, let’s work together and listen to each other and-” Their voice caught in their throat. The protagonist realized with horror that the shepherd was crying. 

The shepherd dropped them to the ground. They stayed down. The shepherd took a step back, their stockings getting soaked through with the morning dew on the grass. “You ruined my fucking life and you have the audacity to still try and be friendly? You've got the fucking  _ nerve  _ to try and fix things? We’re long past that point!” The shepherd was leaned slightly over, arms wide. “You’ve destroyed this world over and over and- Fuck, you expect things to be okay just because you made one change? That isn’t how this works! That isn’t how any of this works! You’re a fucking monster and you need to either act like it or just leave us to decay on our own!”

The shepherd collapsed to their knees. “Just stop it, stop trying to be somebody you’re not! Just STOP!”

The field went entirely silent, all except for the sound of the shepherd sobbing into their own hands. 

The protagonist tried to muster up some way to respond, but it all fell flat. The shepherd was right. Sure it wasn’t…  _ They  _ weren’t the one who had done this, but it had been them. And they had almost done it again. That urge to destroy was still hot in their palms. If they denied it they would be lying, but if they gave in they would just subject this world to even more suffering. They tried to speak, but it got caught deep in their throat. There wasn’t anything they could do, was there?

The butcher stepped forwards. They knelt down in front of the shepherd and spoke so softly it was barely audible. “You okay with touch right now?”

“Mmhm.”

“Alright, I’m gonna pick you up so you can go back in the stall. Is that okay?”

“Mmhm.”

The butcher lifted the shepherd into their arms, and after a moment of shushing, brought them back into the safety of their own shop. The shepherd had stopped crying so loudly and was now just trying to breathe. 

The mortician turned their head to address the protagonist with a hushed voice. “It’s your choice now. I don’t know what happens past here.” Purple hyacinth was curling up out of their skull’s eye sockets in clusters.

The protagonist looked down into the stall where the shepherd was sitting. They had their muzzle tucked between their knees. Their breathing seemed to have slowed. The protagonist talked just loud enough to be heard. “Hey… Do you want me to leave? I don’t want to just say sorry, because I know… I know you can’t forgive me. I know nobody can.” Their shoulders slumped, and reluctantly, they reached up to the back of their head. They took their mask off, holding it over the counter towards the shepherd. “Here. You can have it.”

The shepherd looked up with soaking wet cheeks. Their eyes were empty. They stared at the mask as if the teeth inside it may bite them, but took it anyways. “...Why?”

The protagonist looked away. “I don’t need it anymore. I know what I’m going to do.”

“Oh yeah?” The shepherd was clearly trying to summon up their usual sarcasm, but it fell flat. “And what’s that?”

The protagonist turned towards the mortician. “What happens if I close the loop without leaving it?”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry the chapters are all so short


End file.
